Clipped Angel
by breetoria
Summary: Frederick Fowles stalks and eventually kidnaps Castiel, a shy used bookstore owner in a small town. Frederick feels connected to Castiel and his lonely existence. Little does he know, Castiel wasn't always alone. Warnings: non-con, stalking, torture, captivity
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: I wrote this for a kink meme challenge_ (Castiel gets stalked by a male secret admirer. I don't care who the stalker is, or the ending (Dean could be the one who protects him from the stalker, or Dean could be the stalker even) as long as Castiel gets stalked. It could be an au or not, I am also fine with non-con.)_ It's all done and posted there, but I'm revising and rewriting it and posting it here!

The man lives above the used bookstore that he owns, runs, and operates. The bookstore is popular, not as a place to buy books but as the subject of gossip: for its weird hours and its weird owner and how the store manages to stay open even though no one patronizes it, which is, in a word, weird.

People, especially the neighborhood teenagers, gossip about the owner when they don't know him. First, his name is Castiel, and even though the townspeople are no strangers to Biblical names, the name is a little _too _Biblical, too fringe Christianity.

He wears the same heavy trench-coat, whether the season is summer or winter, whether the time is dawn or dusk. He seems comfortable in it. Others sweat for him.

He's a silent type. He'll stare with unnervingly unblinking eyes. He watches bees a lot. He'll spend hours crouched in front of flowers, staring at them. Recently, the most interaction he's had has been with nature. For a small town, he's strange, in big, flashing letters.

But he's a nice man which people know if they talk to him. Eventually, they realize Castiel is so familiar with keeping to himself that he doesn't realize he's weird. Castiel is harmless, even sweet. He exhibits great warmth during small interactions. He seems to sense sadness, and even though he is awkward, he comforts screaming children and injured animals, crying girls and frustrated men. These intimate interactions with strangers should be the off-putting thing, but paradoxically, it is how people come to trust and love the stranger the trench-coat.

And his beauty is not of this world. His trenchcoat flutters behind him like wings. His blue eyes are ethereal. He doesn't eat or sleep much. He doesn't own a television or a computer or any technology older than a landline telephone that never rings. The books he reads are never of this century, rarely of the last. The beautiful man transcends time. His name is an angel's name, the angel of Thursday. It's a special name, not like Frederick Fowles the _Second. _

What is such a wonderful creature doing in a town devoid of beauty? Frederick often wonders. He decides that it's fate. He is meant to have Castiel, and Castiel is meant to be with him. Even though Castiel seems content with his life, Frederick can tell he is sad. No one in the town understands Castiel. He spends his nights alone curled up with a book (the only time he wears glasses). He has enough money to not only live but to keep his store open, but he has no one to love him. Such a beautiful creature needs love.

At first, the odd store hours made the courtship difficult. But knowing that Castiel's home was right above the store more than compensated for that. Later, when Castiel mysteriously "disappeared", the erratic store hours would be a blessing.

Castiel's obliviousness fits perfectly with Frederick's hyper-awareness of everything Castiel. Frederick trails him at the park, from store windows, on the street. He watches Castiel watch flowers. Castiel doesn't know how many meals he's skipped, or for how many hours he's been awake or how many hours he sleeps when he actually does, or when he accidentally overpays for something and doesn't hear the cashier calling him back because he'd given a twenty instead of a five. But Frederick knows all of those things and more.

In one terrifying moment, Castiel almost got hit by a car. Thankfully, the driver was more attentive than Castiel, who didn't realize what almost happened. If he had gotten hit by a car, would he have died? Would he have even been injured?

Probably not, Frederick thinks, since he's an angel. Immortal. Above this world.

Frederick becomes more daring. One night, he sneaks into Castiel's apartment. It's easy innocent Castiel leaves his windows open, his door unlocked. There are so many ways to get into Castiel's apartment that the angel is practically inviting Frederick to come in. Frederick watches Castiel read a book. The room is lit only by a small reading lamp, so Frederick lurks in the dark. Eventually, Castiel shuts off the lamp and curls up on his couch, nestled in his trench coat. It's four in the morning. Castiel usually wakes at five, if he sleeps at all.

Frederick progresses quickly. He walks from the far side of the room until he is right in front of Castiel's sleeping face, studying it. The angel is oblivious, and Frederick leans in closer. Castiel's lips are right _there. _Frederick might be pushing his luck tonight, doing too much, too soon, but how could he not take the risk?

He startles when Castiel stirs, moaning softly and rolling over, pressing his face against the couch cushions. But he's still asleep, still oblivious. Frederick lost the opportunity to kiss Castiel's lips, but he puts a hand on Castiel's hair and breathes in his scent: old books.

It's almost five. The less than one hour of progress was enough to heighten Frederick's spirit. He is hopeful. Castiel will be his, not one far-off day, but soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Frederick couldn't have chosen a better subject. It's almost like Castiel wants to be stalked-_no, _courted. Not longer after his first night with Castiel, Frederick finds a closet that Castiel never uses It wouldn't be surprising if ever-oblivious Castiel doesn't know the closet is there. From the closet, Frederick can piece together what Castiel is doing by the way lights go on and off, and by the creaking of drawers and the sounds of doors opening.

On the rare occassions Castiel plays shopkeeper, he's in the store all day and well into the night. Frederick has a lot of time to inhale Castiel's scent and to take little keepsakes. He goes through Castiel's other closets and his bookshelves. Everything about Castiel is erotic, from his plain white undershirts and his musty old books. Frederick has a goldmine.

It's not the first time he's rummaged through the drawers, but this time he finds something different. Underneath Castiel's socks is a photo. A police officer, judging by his outfit, with short-cropped hair and a shit-eating grin, has one friendly arm around Castiel. Castiel doesn't look as surly as usual; in fact, he looks pleased, as pleased as his usual stoicism will allow.

Frederick doesn't know who the man is. Castiel's brother? He's seen one of Castiel's brothers before, in a cafe. Castiel and his brother were stern, serious-looking men. Castiel has a few brothers from what Frederick has gathered: Michael, Gabriel, Lucas. His sister, Anna, is dead. But the man in the picture bears no family resemblance.

Occasionally, Castiel receive calls from someone named Balthazar, but these usually make Castiel irritated. Balthazar often asks for money or bail. Castiel does not seem irritated by the man in the photo, Frederick fumes, clenching the photo in his hand. The man who has his arm around Castiel, smiling and open. Who is it?

Frederick flips the photo over. Dean&Cas, Sept2010, written in handwriting that's too large and sloppy to be his angel's. Frederick tries not to crinkle the picture any more than he already has.

Frederick hates Dean. Dean can touch Castiel whenever he wants, can touch him with other people looking, doesn't have to keep it a secret. He almost rips the photograph but decides against it. He buries it under socks again.

Now, he _has_ to have Castiel. Whoever the man in the photograph is, he has no right to Frederick's angel. Castiel is his completely, and the angel needs to know that.

Drugging Castiel is a bit of a risk, but it's practical. It's a weak tranquilizer, enough to knock Castiel out but not enough to kill him. Frederick would never forgive himself if he hurts Castiel in any way.

He'll sneak it into Castiel's food. There's some leftover Chinese take-out, but Frederick thinks Castiel finished the remnants of his fried rice the night before. Frederick mentally inventories: slices of cheese, milk, chocolate syrup, egg salad.

He walks into the kitchen and finds out he is accurate. The container of milk is almost empty, and he'd forgotten about the yogurt and old pizza slices. But he was right about the egg salad, and that's all he needs. He crushes the pill into the egg salad and mixes it. Frederick is reminded of an dog's owner crushing up a pill into dog food to trick the animal. Castiel isn't an animal, but he'll soon be Frederick's pet.

Frederick kills time, smelling Castiel's clothes, looking over his few personal mementos. It's not enough to prevent his anxiousness. Tonight is the night. He has a car waiting, far enough to not cause suspicious, but not too far. Close enough that Frederick could carry the tall but slender body and lay it down on the back seat and drive Castiel to their new home. He can feel the phantom weight of Castiel's body, heavy in his arms as he rescues them both from miserable loneliness.

Tonight is the night.

He masturbates in Castiel's bathroom. oon, he'll be able to do the real thing. Castiel will be beneath him, on the bed that Frederick picked out for him, and he'll be staring at Frederick with those wide, loving, blue eyes, with a look he would never give to-

Dean. For some reason, the name slips into Frederick's mind. That one picture is enough to make Frederick want to kill the man. Maybe that will be his second mission.

He finishes, cleans up quickly, and ducks into the closet for the night. It's just in time too, because Castiel has walked in. Frederick stills himself completely. He sees the light go on in the kitchen, hears the refrigerator creak open. He imagines Castiel rummaging through his paltry selection. The refrigerator door closes.

Castiel is walking back to the room. He stops a few inches before the closet door, but Frederick can see him absently take the lid off of the egg salad. Bring a forkful to his mouth. Catch a whiff of something, make a disgusted face, sniff the container, flinch.

He goes back to the kitchen. In one fluid motion, Castiel tosses the container into the garbage with one hand and picks up the phone in the other. He orders tofu with black bean sauce and fried rice.


	3. Chapter 3

In the driver's seat of his car, Frederick screams. Castiel, Castiel. His Castiel. His angel. It was supposed to be tonight.

He pulls into his tiny, secluded house. He storms into his house, slamming the door. He was supposed to be carrying Castiel over the treshold tonight. He screams again.

This isn't the end of his mission. It's a delay. But still, he'd prepared everything, had been so sure it was going to be tonight. Downstairs, he'd made a room for Castiel. There's a dresser filled with clothes that Frederick wants Castiel to wear. A huge, luxuriant bed for Castiel to rest in, and one day for them both to share (not too soon, though, because Frederick knows boundaries).

He goes to the room to calm down. The large inheritance Frederick's aunt left him paid for shelves of books, art supplies, even a small piano. Like Castiel's, Frederick's life is filled with money and loneliness. Frederick could fix theirs both.

Frederick lies down on Castiel's bed, staring blankly and thinking. Above the bed, Frederick had put a picture of wings, beautiful angel's wings.

Castiel needs to know how much Fredericl loves him.

Frederick remembers a college student he'd been infatuated with a while ago, a pretty, dark-haired woman majoring in art history. He'd thought about her often, hadn't been in love with her the way he was with Castiel, but he had bought chloroform. He planned on one day putting a rag to her mouth and carrying her off. But it would have been too hard. She was always surrounded by people, she always locked her door and watched her drinks, and he'd been pointed out and noticed too many times. She wasn't worth it.

Castiel, though...

He runs back upstairs to the closet he'd kept the chloroform in. It would work. It would be immediate. He wouldn't have to rely on Castiel's erratic eating habits. He could have his angel tomorrow.

He breaks in when Castiel is on the sofa, curled up and reading in the dark room. He takes a moment to watch Castiel: it will be the last time he is in his natural environment. For an instant, Frederick is sad. He doesn't like change, and watching Castiel in his house is peaceful, steady. Then he thinks about how beautiful Castiel will be in his new home.

Frederick knows Castiel's environment better than Castiel does. He takes a roundabout route around the room until he's sneaking up behind Castiel, the damp cloth in his hand. Castiel doesn't notice until the cloth is over his mouth, and he's struggling, now out of the chair. This is a much better idea than the egg salad. Frederick feels Castiel writhe, frantic and beautiful. Castiel's body is in his arms. He has control.

Castiel is fighting. He probably thinks he's not safe, but he is. Frederick strokes his hair and tries to soothe him.

"Shh, love," Frederick murmurs.

The moment Castiel goes limp, Frederick comes in his pants. He gently, lovingly, lowers Castiel to the ground and takes a moment to look at his catch. The beautiful, mussed hair. The long slender fingers. They're not out of the woods yet. He still has to get his pretty angel to the car.

He puts one arm around Castiel's shoulders and the other under his legs. It's dark and the town is quiet, so the walk to the car is undisturbed. Frederick lays Castiel down in the back seat. He digs under the seat and pulls out some restraints: ropes and a pair of hand-cuffs.

"I'm sorry," he says, brushing his lips against Castiel. He loves Castiel and knows that Castiel will one day love him, too. But for now, he can't take any risks.

He finishes tying the restraints and then gags Castiel's mouth.

The ride back home would be dangerous if anyone else were on the road. Frederick keeps glancing at the backseat. His angel is sleeping, so pretty, so peaceful. Now his. How he managed to drive to his house without climbing into the back seat and ravishing the man right then is beyond him.

He carries Castiel, who is the perfect size and weight for Frederick to hold, downstairs. After he lays Castiel on the bed, he doesn't know what to do first. He keeps the chloroform rag nearby at all times, but Castiel shows no signs of waking. Frederick unlocks the handcuffs and undresses Castiel, taking off the boxy coat, the stiff collared shirt, and the beige pants. He tucks his fingers under the waistband of Castiel's boxer-briefs and pulls them off. He won't actually do anything with Castiel, not yet. He wants his and Castiel's first time to be together.

He puts the handcuffs back on, and sets Castiel back down. Frederick sprints upstairs to his own bedroom. His own bed is a small cot with scratchy sheets, but on his tiny nightstand is a camera. He grabs it and runs back downstairs.

Castiel's head lolled to the side, but he's still deeply unconscious. Frederick takes pictures of Castiel at every angle. He looks like a real angel, lying on the big bed, unburdened by earthly things, the wing motif all around him.

Once Frederick has taken enough pictures-dozens, there will be more-he climbs onto Castiel's bed and kisses his forehead. He smells like old books. Frederick buries his face into Castiel's neck, nipping and sucking.

"God, you're mine," he moans, positioning Castiel into his lap, removing the gag and putting his mouth over Castiel's.

At first, Castiel is unresponsive. Then he lets out beautiful little moans, his fingers start grasping around. And then his eyes fly open and he screams, but it's muffled by Frederick's mouth.

Quickly, Frederick grabs the gag and puts it back into Castiel's mouth.

"Shh, shh. It's OK. You're here."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews and signing up for story alerts! I appreciate both. :_

Castiel has never been a crier. He's only cried once in his life and he's not about to use a second time. As the man smoothes Castiel's hair back in a grotesque mockery of comfort, Castiel is tempted with the cathartic release of tears.

"Castiel, I know you don't know me, but my name is Frederick Fowles. I've been watching you for a while. I love you. I want to take the gag out of your mouth, but I can't do that if I think you're going to scream. Are you going to scream?"

Lying would be a bad idea, so Castiel defiantly stares at the man. The man—Frederick—is grotesque, with manic, bulging eyes and pockmarks all over his face. The context makes him even more horrifying. He's huge, too. How he managed to go unnoticed, is a mystery. A man his size would attract attention. He's almost as tall as Dean's brother, and somehow broad and sickly-looking at the same time.

"I trust you and I want you to trust me too, so I'm going to take the gag out, alright?"

"This is sick," Castiel bites out as soon as the gag is off. Frederick slaps him.

"I don't appreciate that."

"I don't appreciate _this. _Whatever you want—money—" and then Castiel realizes he has nothing else to offer—"whatever, I don't care—this is ridiculous, so let me go."

"I don't want money. I want you. You need to love me."

"Never."

"I don't like your tone, Castiel. You are not to talk to me like that. This is a relationship of equals."

"This is not a relationship—stop slapping me!" Castiel barked in response to a second slap.

Castiel shakes, rage and fear overtaking him. But he won't cry. Eventually, the panic subsides, leaving Castiel spent and shivering on the bed.

"Poor thing," Frederick says, "I'm not going to hurt you. I've been in your house before. I've watched you sleep and never once hurt you. See?"

Frederick reaches for something on the night stand. It's a sketchbook, with paper jutting out from the edge. Frederick takes the loose piece of paper and puts it next to Castiel.

It's a picture of himself, sleeping. The panic threatens to start up again. Somehow, Castiel manages to keep his body calm.

"I won't tell anyone. Please let me go."

The man can't keep his hands off of Castiel. He brushes Castiel's cheebones with his thumbs.

"You've had a tough night, my angel. I'm going to let you sleep. You don't trust me yet, so I'll leave you alone tonight. I do have to keep the cuffs on. I want to trust you. I want us to be free together. I know we'll be happy in time, but for now, I have to keep those restraints."

He leans over and pulls the blanket over Castiel, then kisses his forehead and turns out the lights.

Outside, Frederick listens to Castiel cry during the night. Sometimes, Castiel screams, which Frederick doesn't approve of, and he'll have to talk to Castiel about it later. Eventually, the screaming stops, then the sniffling, and he knows his angel is asleep.

Frederick prepares breakfast: muffins, toast, eggs, fruit, tea, orange juice. He takes the tray into Castiel's room, sets it on the night stand, and watches Castiel. He'd promised to leave Castiel alone, but for the night. It's daytime.

Castiel gradually comes into consciousness, scrunching his face, trying to moisten his lips. It's wonderful, even better when those blue eyes open. It's not so good when Castiel sees Frederick and flinches, but Frederick doesn't let that bother him. Castiel is still adjusting.

"Good morning," Ignoring the terror in Castiel's eyes, Frederick makes him sit up. "You didn't sleep well last night, did you? You'll eventually be very comfortable here. I made you breakfast. I can't take the restraints off yet, so I'll have to feed you."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know. You eat like a little bird. But you have to keep your strength up."

Showing no signs of cooperating, Castiel moves his head away and shuts his mouth. Frederick sighs.

"The sooner I can trust you, the sooner the restraints come off."

The sooner the restraints come off, Castiel thinks, the sooner I can escape. Reluctantly, he opens his mouth and lets Frederick spoon some eggs into it. Frederick makes him sip orange juice, takes bites of muffins.

"So good, angel," Frederick moans as he puts a berry into Castiel's mouth. "Let me kiss you? I've done it before, my pet. You have nothing to be afraid of."

The breakfast comes back up, Castiel spewing eggs and muffin all over the bed. _I've done it before._

Frederick wipes the vomit from his mouth, then holds Castiel to his chest. Before, Castiel had been holding onto every hope that this was a prank of Gabriel's or an elaborate payback from Michael or Lucas's enemies. Some charade. Something fake. He can't even fight back. He just lets Frederick hold him, trying to pretend it isn't happening.

"I'd like to go back to sleep now," Castiel says softly.

"Of course. Do you mind if I watch?"

Castiel minds a lot. But, he repeats, the sooner he cooperates the sooner his restraints come off the sooner he can escape. Suddenly, he becomes aware of his nakedness.

"Could I get some clothes?"

"I have many wonderful clothes for you, but you have to earn them."

Castiel ducks his head and nods. Frederick helps him settle back into bed, whispering 'I love you'. Castiel ignores it.

His plan is to sleep as much as possible, but he wakes up in the middle of the night. He has to pee. Frederick is asleep in the chair next to him.

"F-Frederick?" the name is like bile coming out of Castiel's mouth, but maybe Frederick will remove the restraints.

Frederick wakes up so suddenly it's like he wasn't even asleep. "Yes, my angel?"

"I have to use the bathroom."

"Alright," Frederick stands up.

"I mean-by myself?"

"Not yet, love," Frederick says. The ease with which he picks Castiel up alarms Castiel, but Castiel tries not to show his fear. In the bathroom, Frederick helps him stand, helps him aim, and Castiel tries to block everything out. Dizzy, he sways, but Frederick attributes that to Castiel's leg restraints, rather than his nausea.

Frederick helps Castiel back to bed.

"Good night. Sleep well."

Castiel doesn't sleep at all.


	5. Turning Point

Author's Note ~~~~~WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS NON-CON. NOT GRAPHIC, BUT THERE. BE WARNED IF NON-CON/RAPE IS A TRIGGER FOR YOU. IT ALSO CONTAINS TORTURE (WHIPPING) AND ALL THE BAD STUFF FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTERS (CAPTIVITY, STALKING) CONTINUES. THE NON-CON WILL BE REFERENCED IN CHAPTERS HERE ON OUT, SO BE WARNED.~~~~~~~~~

It's been weeks, from what Castiel can tell. Weeks of smiling pleasantly and trying to keep food down and listening to Frederick read to him and beg Castiel to love him and Castiel keeping his expression soft and not crying and trying not to scream (except sometimes he can't help it, he has nightmares). Weeks, but for all Castiel knows, it could just as easily be months, or days.

They have a deal where Castiel doesn't have to wear restraints when Frederick is in the room, but has to when Frederick isn't. Castiel accepts it. He keeps finding excuses not to let Frederick fuck him, but he worried it can't last much longer. What will happen when Frederick's patience wears thin again?

He wonders if anyone has noticed he's missing yet. If Dean has been trying to get in touch with him for a long-awaited reconciliation. More likely Sam has been trying to get in touch with him, but most likely, no one has noticed anything.

He sleeps far too often, surprised he has that much sleep in him. Sleep comes too easily for him. At his estimate, he's unconscious most of the time.

He's tried fighting Frederick, but Castiel is so weak from not using his muscles, and Frederick is so _big. _Monstrous, he's like fighting a broader, mentally unhinged Sam. And Frederick doesn't like it when Castiel tries to fight him. Frederick kept the restraints on for days after Castiel tried to beat him.

Always, when Frederick is away, Castiel tries to get the restraints off, rubbing the metal against the wooden bedposts, or the sculpted wings decorating the room. He could take Frederick by surprise and escape, if only he could get the restraints off. When he hears footsteps, Castiel stops.

But weeks—and it's been weeks for weeks now, so it's probably months, at this point—months into his captivity, he's desperate, and he doesn't care if Frederick knows he's trying to escape. He rubs the cuffs against a jagged statue of wings, doing more damage to the statue than to his restraints. He hears the footsteps. It would be a good time to stop. But Castiel keeps grinding away, imagining that the flecks of debris spraying his hands are from the cuffs and not from the statue.

Then the door opens. Frederick throws Castiel against the wall. Castiel is a limp heap on the floor. Frederick kicks him. One kick would be enough from the giant rage machine, but Frederick kicks him again, and again…

Castiel blacks out. When he comes to, Frederick is holding him, sobbing.

"Angel, I'm so sorry. I know you want freedom, but you have to earn it."

Castiel tries to focus. He's still seeing spots.

"I've been kind to you, haven't I?"

When Castiel doesn't say anything, Frederick shakes him. Castiel feels blood flying from his mouth as he coughs. That can't be good, medically, Castiel thinks.

"Kindness doesn't work on you, does it," Frederick murmurs. His fingers are in Castiel's hair and they stroke gently, once, but then they pull, throwing Castiel to the side. Castiel is jostled and dizzy, vaguely aware of Frederick leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Castiel is on his knees, coughing blood, when Frederick returns. Out of the corner of his eyes, Castiel sees Frederick set up a tripod and place a video camera on top of it. There's something else in his hands, long black rope—Castiel refuses to think the word _whip_—long black rope that cuts off into nine. _Cat o'nine tails,_ Castiel thinks, trying to block out what he knows about medieval torture devices.

"Castiel," Frederick announces, solemnly, "I've read stories where captives—I don't consider you a captive, but I'm sure you consider yourself one—I've read stories where captives come to love their captors. I was hoping that would be the case with you, because I love you so much. I've shown you nothing but love."

Sheers run down the length of Castiel's robe, cutting them away. Frederick likes to keep Castiel in light, white robes that never close. Castiel used to think he might as well not be wearing anything at all, in those robes; now, he wants to wish any cloth onto his body.

"I hope I only have to do this once," Frederick says.

At the first lash, Castiel falls forward, face down, pressing against his cuffed wrists. Then another lash follows, and like the kicks, one would have been enough, but they just keep coming. Castiel's brain fires thoughts, random, contradictory. He regrets disobeying Frederick, and he'll kill Frederick when he can. He'll hate Frederick forever, but love him if the pain ever stops. The more he thinks about Frederick, the more he screams, so he thinks about Dean, about Dean maybe forgiving him, if he apologizes when he gets out, if he gets out…

He didn't bother counting the lashes. All he knows is that he's a broken, sobbing mess. His back is in ribbons. He's vaguely aware of Frederick kneeling beside him and stroking his hair.

"Are you going to be good now, Castiel?" Frederick takes the gag out, but it doesn't matter. Castiel can barely talk. He manages to choke out an affirmative sob.

"Do you know how much it hurts when you pretend to love me, when my love for you is so genuine, so pure?"

Castiel hates himself for it, but he can't stop apologizing.

Frederick steps away from Castiel's side and moves behind him again. Castiel feels Frederick raise his hips and then mount him. Castiel feels base, like an animal. Worse than an animal.

He's almost glad for the whipping. Now, he can focus on that pain instead of Frederick thrusting in and out of him. He thinks about meeting Sam and Dean in high school. He'd known Dean first, being in the same year, but had been friends with Sam first, and then became very fond of Dean. He tries to piece together the development of his relationship with the Winchesters, but it becomes too complicated, the thoughts to muddled, so he thinks about snapshots of what his life once was.

Dean graduating police academy. Sam getting into college. Michael and Lucas, Lucas and Gabriel, their sibling rivalry. Dean is mad at him right now. Dean has been mad at him for a year. Dean told him to get the fuck out out of his life. He thinks about about Sam apologizing on behalf of his brother. About anything but this.

By the time it's over, he's not thinking about anything at all.

"That was very good," Frederick mutters behind him in some other universe. Vaguely, Castiel is aware of the handcuffs coming off again. Maybe Frederick knows that Castiel is too spent to do anything. Catatonic.

Frederick hums softly as he cleans Castiel with a damp cloth. Castiel can barely bring himself to wince in pain. Frederick leads Castiel to the bed, settling him on his side so as not to put pressure on his back. Content, Frederick murmurs "I love you" into Castiel's ears and settles there, spooning him.

Castiel eyes stare vacantly in the dark.


	6. Descent

WARNING: REFERENCES TO NON-CON

After that, sex becomes part of Frederick's routine. The camera is always there on its tripod, when Castiel is sleeping, or reading, or getting raped by Frederick. The camera sits there, taunting him, always there. It's like Frederick's crony.

Once, Castiel tried to smash it. He'd crawled over (restaints on, when Frederick isn't in the room) and knocked it over with his head. This was a very stupid idea, since Frederick knew immediately and responded with thumbscrews.

Castiel thinks back to Frederick's ideas about Stockholm syndrome. Why _couldn't_ he love Frederick? Why couldn't he just go along with what was happening? Why did he have to be so defiant?

Castiel starts to break. He spends his time in a fugue, sometimes blank and catatonic, other times smiling empty smiles. He'll space out, get a far-off look in his eyes that Frederick mistakes for love. That's OK, though. If Castiel pretends he's somewhere else, some place where he's happy, Frederick doesn't beat him, and Castiel blocks out anything Frederick raping him. In his mind, he's at a barbecue with the Winchester family or at an opening to one of Gabriel's stores. Lucas is helping him get fitted for a suit.

Castiel will be docile for days after a lot of time with Frederick. Docile Castiel doesn't need restraints. He's like a toy. Frederick dresses him (or doesn't) and bathes him and feeds him, and he'll be a limp heap until he's moved. Frederick will roll Castiel on his stomach and rub a salve on his back, or he'll roll Castiel on his back and kiss him. Castiel never kisses back, but he doesn't fights back, either. Frederick considers that progress.

Sometimes, when Castiel is aware of reality, he worries. Will his mind ever recover? What if these fantasies-these delusions-stop becoming a defense mechanism and become all he's capable of thinking? Maybe he should focus on what's actually happening, no matter how painful it is. When he's free, he'll need his faculties...

If he's free.

He's become so docile. He asks, timidly, for permission to use the bathroom and to wear a robe and to sleep. Even if he doesn't love Frederick, even if he refuses to give Frederick the satisfaction of genuine affection, Castiel thinks he lost already. He is no longer himself. He is a subservient pet to a psycho, and he will never be free.

Would Dean have broken? Would Sam? And when? Certainly, they would have lasted longer than Castiel. Even more certainly, though, this would not have happened to them, because they're brave and strong and smart, and they would have fought off intruders and been aware of any mammoth monsters who'd been in their houses, watching them sleep.

Thoughts of Dean and Sam being in this position make Castiel cry. His tears are silent, more leaks than sobs, but even imagining them in this position…That's what makes Castiel cry. That and the whippings.


	7. Breakdown

It's been too long now, no denying Castiel has been captive for months. He has tried to ask Frederick as neutrally as possible. Frederick responds with a warning, "Don't you like it here?" Castiel stopped pressing the issue.

Castiel dreams about the sun. He dreams about the town's famous barbecues in its park. He dreams about flowers and bees, but when he wakes up, all he has are the same four, windowless, walls, the wings all around the room, the trivial little hobbies Frederick has given him. Old paperbacks. A rock garden.

Always, Frederick is at his bedside, watching him. Castiel doesn't know when Frederick sleeps, or even if he needs to. Frederick is a monster, not human.

"Morning," Frederick says.

"How long have I been here?" Castiel asks, sitting up. He rarely speaks anymore. His voice is weak and soft. He doesn't recognize it, but he doesn't remember what he used to sound like.

Frederick gathers Castiel in his arms. Castiel lets him. If he keeps Frederick satisfied in little ways, he can hold off beatings or rape. Today, Castiel needs to be on Frederick's good side.

"A while," Frederick says. "Why?"

"I was wondering if I could see outside," Castiel asks, quietly. He hates himself for how weak his voice is, how timid and obedient he's become for Frederick. He wishes he were weaker. He wants to be so broken that he doesn't care about how broken he is. Why isn't he a drooling vegetable? How is he still cognizant? His faculties are like a torture of their own: he is still himself, but only enough to know that he isn't.

"Is this not enough for you?" Frederick's voice is kind, but warning.

"No! No. It's p-perfect. But I'd like to go somewhere with you. A park. Or something."

_Dean would play football in the park with Michael and Lucas while Sam and Cas sat on the grass and watched and sometimes Gabriel would prepare a picnic and _

"I don't know, angel. I'll think about it."

Castiel wonders if he'd even try to escape if he were let outside. His will is so broken that he probably wouldn't leave Frederick's side. The thought makes him want to cry, but he doesn't. Crying might soften Frederick's resolve, but it also might anger him.

"My little angel is falling asleep again," Frederick says fondly, setting Castiel back on the bed. "Dream of me, OK?"

The next time Castiel wakes up, Frederick is not at his side. Instead, there is a tray of food, some books, and a note.

"My dear angel,

I have gone out for the day. I will not be back for a few hours. I have left you food and some books.

Be good.

Frederick."

The books Frederick gets are old pulp fiction paperbacks or non-fiction on obscure, dry topics. Castiel reads them to keep himself grounded. The words are meaningless. He has no thoughts about any of them, forgetting them the moment he closes the back cover.

He reads all of the books on the table and then drifts asleep. He wakes up to Frederick walking into the room.

"You're awake. Did you enjoy your day?"

He almost did. It reminded him of being at home: solitude and books, although they weren't any books he would have chosen. And there were no windows and he didn't know what time or day it was.

"It was OK," Castiel mutters, worrying that if he's too pleased at Frederick's absence, he will get beaten.

"I thought about what you asked. About the park."

Castiel looks up in amazement, eyes shimmering. Disbelieving, he feels light-headed. The phantom rays of sunlight overwhelm him.

"Unfortunately, I think you're still a bit...tempermental. You're getting better, Castiel, and one day we'll be wonderfully happy. I do love you, though, so I got you a picture."

The words don't register immediately. Castiel almost faints. All his hope, first filled and then depleted instantly. Dumbly, he stares at the picture-a cheap thrift store painting of trees and grass and sky.

He feels sick.

"Soon, though," Frederick says, lifting the dazed Castiel's face and kissing his lips. Castiel is still trying to register what happened.

Frederick leaves. Castiel stares at the painting. There's a small stream off to the side, the faint outline of a boy and a dog playing in the distance. Castiel is dizzy.

He throws the painting against the wall, the cheap wooden frame breaking into splints, the paper tearing. He takes his tray of uneaten food and throws that, too, then smashes it against the wall until it breaks. He tears the books up, ripping out of the binding and then shredding the pages with his hands. When there's nothing left to break, he pounds his fists against the wall, then collapses, sobbing, until he passes out.


	8. Rescue

A/N: Thank you, reviewers! I love you all, and your reviews! Anyway, the moment you've all been waiting for...Dean!

When he wakes up, he's not lying down. He's not in the room, either. He's in what appears to be a dungeon. How-and why-his captor has a secret basement, torture devices, and now a dungeon, Castiel doesn't even want to know, yet it doesn't surprise him.

He's shackled to the wall. It hurts, one hand more than the other, and he realizes he might have broken his hand when he'd punched the wall.

"I'm so disappointed in you, Castiel."

Frederick is standing before him, but Castiel's brain is so hazy and the room is so dark that Castiel barely notices.

"I thought you were a loving, appreciative man. My angel. You've been so, so difficult, and I've been so merciful. I don't think you realize how merciful I've been."

Frederick steps closer to Castiel, but Castiel is still too dazed to fully comprehend anything.

"I didn't want to do this. But I have to leave you. I love you, Castiel, but you've lost my trust."

Frederick lifts Castiel's head and parts Castiel's lips with his tongue. He explores every part of Castiel's mouth, memorizing it. He'll need enough to remember him by.

"Good-bye, my sweet angel."

He hears Frederick departing footsteps, then the door closing, and then everything goes black.

It's been ten days since he said good-bye to Castiel. He visits every few days, quickly and occasionally, to pour water down the unconscious man's throat, but he doesn't linger. If he does, he'll be tempted to unshackle the angel, to cradle the emaciated body in his arms and give him another chance. Castiel has already been shown too much mercy.

There's a young man who just moved in to the neighborhood. He's bright and enthusiastic, and he just packed up and moved across the country and now he's all alone. Frederick has been keeping an eye on him.

~~~~~~~  
"Hey, buddy."

Castiel doesn't need to open his eyes to know who it is-he can't open his eyes, anyway. But he sees Dean in front of him, walking over to him. Staring at Castiel, Dean's hands rest on the shackles. Castiel wants to ask him why he isn't undoing them, but he doesn't care. Dean's here.

"You broken already?" Dean asks, hands leaving the shackles and cupping Castiel's face. "Poor thing. I'm going to hate you for this."

Castiel's mouth is dried shut when he tries to protest. Dean shushes him, caressing Castiel's cheek with his thumb.

"I am. I'm going to resent you. I'm going to find your emaciated little corpse and it's going to haunt me."

Castiel hears a strangled whimpered, but he could just be imagining it.

"And they'll find evidence of everything. All the beatings. All the rape. Everyone will know, poor little Cassie couldn't fight back. Somehow, I'll get blamed for it, though. Should've looked after the village idiot.

"I never forgave you, Cas. And you were too weak to hold out until I did. I'm going to drink myself to death sooner'n Bobby, and it's all because of you.

"You know that I'll be the one to find you, you selfish bastard. Covered in your own shit and piss. Damn, Cas. How the mighty have fallen."

Castiel leans into the touch of Dean's hand, but his head falls against nothing.

There's a knock on Frederick's door, which is unusual. It might be a wayward traveler. He gets them occasionally. Sometimes, police officers visit. Once, a few weeks ago, they asked if they could talk to him, but Frederick knew better than to say yes.

He opens the door. It's the scruffy police officer from weeks ago, with three others-a blonde woman, and two men. One of the men, Frederick only saw once, in a picture, but he'd know the face anywhere. He freezes when he sees it, rage and recognition flashing in his eyes before he can stop it. He quickly composes himself.

"Yes, Officer?" Frederick says.

"Would you mind if we have a look around, Mr. Fowles?" The scruffy man asks.

"When you have a warrant," Frederick says. He shuts the door, but the man holds it open.

"Just so happens, we do."

The man pushes a piece of paper at Frederick as the four men push themselves inside. Frederick scans the paper.

It's a warrant for the entire house.

The loathesome Dean-Frederick can scarcely bring himself to say his name-and the older scruffy one are searching his living room. He's lost track of the other two.

"Who's your friend, hmm?" Dean asks Frederick. Frederick wants to lunge at him, to bite his ears off, rip his eyes out. Castiel's failure is probably his fault.

He's holding up papers about the new boy, yearbook photographs, newspaper clippings, candid shots.

The woman appears in the doorway leading to the basement.

"Bobby? I think you better come down here."

Frederick's breath hitches. Castiel isn't in the basement anymore, he's in the secret room, the special room. He'd locked the safe. They can't get in.

Dean follows behind the older man. The woman touches his shoulder before he goes down the stairs.

"Dean, I don't think you should go down there," her voice is wavering. Dean ignores her, expression unchanging.

Frederick pushes his way down to the basement after Dean and Bobby. A deep, sickening feeling in his heart tells him that this will be the last time he sees his angel.

They'd broken open the safe and found the secret doorway-and that's really all they had to do to get to Castiel. Stupid, Frederick chastises himself. He'd thought that would be more than enough.

They'd broken the shackles, too, and Castiel lies boneless in Dean's arms. Dean is whispering something to Castiel, who can't hear it. Castiel might even be dead, of dehydration, starvation, something. Frederick stopped being careful after a while.

The older man is walking towards Frederick. He turns Frederick around-a little too rough for what the procedure calls for-and slams him against the wall.

The handcuffs clicks into place behind Frederick. He's not listening to what the man is saying, but he knows.

'You have the right to remain silent...'


	9. Haze

A/N: Thank you everyone for reviewing, or for favoriting this story, or for putting it on alert! I really appreciate it. Yes, there will be a long road to recovery.

The room is bright. It's not the room he's been in for the past (how long). It's white all over and plain and there's beeping and it's warm. Maybe it's heaven. If it's heaven, then Sergeant Robert Singer is dead, because it's his gruff voice Castiel hears first.

"Hey, kid," he says, uncharacteristically soft. Castiel cracks open his eyes. The sergeant is standing over him. "You're in the hospital. Been here for a while. Doctors say you're doing good. I gotta go take care of a few things, but I wanted to see those bright blues, make sure you're alright. Dean'll be here for a bit."

The sergeant lifts his hand over Castiel's shoulder, then hesitates (why doesn't he just ask if he can touch me), then lays it (gently but awkwardly but comfortingly) on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel feels himself flinch, but maybe the sergeant doesn't notice.

Bobby leaves. He might have said something about Dean...

"Cas," Dean's voice as uncharacteristically weak as Bobby's was soft, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Castiel isn't sure if Dean is apologizing for his actions or for Frederick's or for nothing in particular. "You're safe now, God, I'm so sorry."

Through blurred eyes, Castiel sees Dean's hand twitch next to his own, hesitating like Bobby had, and then deciding to grip his fingers.

"I'm gonna-shit, you're so drugged out right now, probably won't remember a thing I'm saying. Might not even be hearing me. I'm gonna go now, help Bobby out. Sam'll be by later. I'm gonna be back, I promise. Hang in there, Cas. Please."

Dean squeezes Castiel's hand before he leaves, and Castiel fades out not long after.

When Castiel's eyes crack open later, a tall figure is seated next to him, hunched over a book. It's Sam Winchester, giant height, floppy hair and all. Even though his lips are chapped and bleeding, Castiel smiles.

Sam had been Castiel's friend even during his and Dean's fight. He'd stop by the book store occasionally, but call more often. Between Sam's schoolwork and Castiel's erratic schedule and general elusiveness, it was hard for the two to meet. But Castiel always knew that Sam was his friend.

Sam startles when he sees Castiel awake.

"Cas. Hey. I didn't notice you were up."

Castiel tries to say a word, but he can't even mouth it. His lips are too dry. Sam fills a cup with water and puts it to Castiel's mouth. Briefly, Castiel thinks of his captor keeping his hands tied up and feeding him. This is different. It's Sam.

"Class?" Castiel asks.

"Nah, had finals. Finished early. It was my last one, too, so I can stick around here for a while. Make sure Dean gets some green stuff in him." Sam is good at playing casual, and Castiel is grateful for it.

"Thank you," Castiel mouths.

"Can I-? Would it be OK if I touched you?" Sam's hand is slightly elevated and he sounds flustered. Just like Bobby and Dean, he doesn't know if he should ask or just touch. Castiel nods, eyelashes fluttering. They feel like butterfly wings. He falls asleep with Sam's huge, gentle hand stroking his hair.

Next time he wakes up, it's to voices, Sam's and Dean's.

"How is he?"

"He woke up a while ago for a few minutes. Been asleep since."

There's a moment of silence, and Castiel imagines that the brothers are looking at him. He can feel their eyes on him, but that could be his imagination. It's hard to get rid of that feeling.

"I'm gonna make sure that bastard fries. You tell me he doesn't deserve to die. I'll be the first volunteer to flip the switch. Or put a bullet through that fucker's skull. I swear to God, if that monster walks-"

"Dean."

Castiel doesn't know why Sam stopped him. Maybe Sam worries that Castiel can hear and the topic will upset him, or thinks Dean is getting too worked up, or maybe Dean is saying things he shouldn't say.

"Got my house set up for him." Dean says after a while. "Don't know if he'll want to stay with me. I'm sure his brothers will offer, but they're not exactly the caregiving type, you know? I mean, neither am I, but Michael and Lucas would probably just hire a live-in nurse and take off. And I know Gabriel loves the shit out of his baby brother, but he shouldn't take care of a hamster. They all live really far. Do you think he'd..."

And Castiel falls asleep again.

It's later that evening. It's dark outside, although Castiel doesn't know how he knows because he doesn't crack open his eyes to more than slits. A thumb is caressing his cheek gently. It's calloused and rough and loving. It's not Frederick's. Castiel reminds himself of this. It's not Frederick's. It's not Frederick's. It's not Frederick's.

He hears the door open.

"You still here?" Bobby again.

"Yeah. Sam left little over an hour ago. I thought I'd stay 'til they threw me out. What're you doing here?"

"Just finished up the paperwork. Wanted to check on the kid before I went home."

"'The kid,'" Dean scoffs.

"Hey. An innocent little thing like that, what d'you call him?"

The thumb stops moving, but stays on Castiel's cheek. "My best friend."

"Fair enough."

"What if I never apologized to him?"

He hears a chair slide next to his bed. "You probably wouldn't have. But you can now."

"That's all I've been saying, all I've been thinking. 'I'm sorry, Cas. I'm sorry.' I've been saying it to him here and in my head and I've been asking God to give him the message. Do you think it matters anymore? Do you think he cares? A year. Fuck. I haven't spoken to him in a year. I forgave him. Right after I told him to go to hell and leave, I forgave him. And I never told him, because I'm a dumb prick. You know what I would do, if I were lying in a hospital bed after four months of being kidnapped by a fucking psycho and my best friend were a fucking moron and came begging for my forgiveness, and telling me he wants to do everything in his power to make things right? I'd tell him, 'I don't even care enough about you to tell you to get the fuck out of my life.'"

For a while, there's no sound except the machines beeping and Dean's quiet sniffling.

Dean stares at Castiel. When the doctor had told Dean the extent of Castiel's injuries, Dean thought 'basically, everything that could be wrong with a person.' And then the doctor said there was evidence of sexual assault and Dean thought, yeah, that's everything.

Castiel lies lightly on his side because there are contusions on his stomach but lacerations in his back. His muscles weakened. He's dehydrated and malnourished. He wouldn't have made it another day.

That's not to say anything about his mental trauma. He hasn't woken up yet. He and Dean haven't said a word in a year, five months of which Castiel spent locked up. Before he realized Castiel was missing-really missing-Dean was not going to apologize. He'd forgiven Castiel months before, but he wasn't going to let Castiel know that.

Since Dean was punishing himself, he was set to let his friend suffer forever.

It strikes Dean then that Castiel won't be the same Castiel when he wakes up. There is no chance of him being the same. He might not even be recognizable. Maybe he won't forgive Dean. Maybe he won't even be able to talk. He could be a vegetable, as good as dead, and the last words Dean ever said to him were filled with hate.

If he told Castiel that he didn't mean what he said, if they'd made up before, would anything be different? If Dean had been around, an extra set of eyes, a protector, an anchor, a friend, would Castiel have been captured?

Lacerations...severely dehydrated...sexually assaulted...mental trauma... Dean's brain fastforwards to the future. He doesn't know how far ahead. Could be a year, could be twenty. Castiel, staring blankly on a hospital bed, Dean by his side.

"D'you think I can fix this?"

"Probably not. You still gonna try?"

He leans forward and briefly buries his face in Castiel's hair. He no longer smells like old books.

"Yeah. Forever."


	10. Families

Bobby checks on Dean, sitting at a desk with mountains of papers. It's unusual. Dean insists on patrolling to the point that he'll pay Jo to do his paperwork. He's stuck Dean with paperwork because he'll be damned if he's going to put Dean in any stressful situations. Normally, Dean would complain. Given the present circumstances, he can't.

"You don't have to stay here. I'll give you some time off if you want, for Cas."

"He's asleep most of the time, and he's being looked after by doctors and nurses now. I'm going to need time when-if he stays with me."

Bobby nods.

"Oh, Bobby, by the way. His brothers are flying in soon."

"Oh joy," Bobby says tonelessly.

~~~~~~~~~

Whenever Dean visits, Cas is asleep. It makes sense, though, because Dean stops by after work at night. Sam allays Dean's fears about a vegetative Cas. Sam is usually at the hospital. Finals done, he only has a prep course about the bar exam. It's only about three hours twice a week and a huge waste of money. When he's not at the prep course, Sam studies at Cas's bed is lucid when he's awake, sometimes even talking, but he slurs his words because of the drugs and falls asleep suddenly.

Dean visits at lunch one day. When he walks in, Sam has put his book aside and Cas is slurring something apparently funny, because Sam laughs. Then they notice Dean, who finds it hard to read the emotion in Cas's hazy, unfocused eyes.

"Hey," Dean says.

"Dean," Castiel says. His voice is unreadable as his eyes. Dean sits by his bed.

"I, uh..." Dean doesn't know what to say.

"You were here. Did I dream that?" He's been dreaming of Anna, of his parents, of people living and dead, real and fake.

"No. I was here." Dean's choking up. Would it be petty of him to bring up their fight, even if it's to apologize? Is it presumptuous of him to think Cas would care? "Cas, I'm sorry."

"I know. I heard."

"I want my friend back."

The words come from both of them at the same time, Dean's voice thick with emotion and Cas's flat and matter-of-fact. When he registers what Cas says, Dean's floodgates break again and he's sobbing. Shouldn't Cas be the one crying? After all, he was the one betrayed and tortured, lying in the hospital bed for the past two weeks. Dean feels like he's stealing Cas's emotional spotlight, but he can't stop crying.

Castiel murmurs a sleepy 'Thank you' before he drifts off to sleep.

Cas is conscious more often, and Dean starts visiting during every one of his lunch breaks. Sometimes Sam is there, sometimes he isn't. The day Castiel gets cleared to start eating food, both brothers are there. The nurse sets broth and Jell-O in front of Cas, explains his progress, then leaves. Hands shaking, Castiel tries to grab the spoon.

"I got it, Cas," Dean offers. He flinches when Castiel growls "No."

Of course Castiel wouldn't forgive him so easily. They're not friends. Dean doesn't deserve it. Sam looks concernedly at Dean and Cas.

"Would you like me to do it?"

"No," Castiel realizes how harsh he sounded. "I just...it reminds me of...I'd rather do it myself."

Sam and Dean look at each other. If Castiel doesn't want to be spoon-fed, they're going to respect that. But his hands are too weak and shaky to feed himself. It'll be a struggle.

"Um, I got an idea," Sam says, "You could feed yourself, but what if one of us just, you know, helped guide the spoon and stuff?"

It's a transparent attempt to pacify Cas. They all know it would be easier to just spoon-feed Cas. Dean expects Castiel to be offended at the compromise, but Castiel agrees. It's a good idea, anyway. It might help strengthen Castiel's muscles and coordination.

Dean silently indicates that Sam should be the one to help. Dean hangs back and watches. Sam is much better at reading people than he is. It's Sam with whom Cas should stay, not with Dean. Endlessly patient Sam who encourages without being condescending, tells Castiel that if he gets tired, they'll take a break. Sam, who's never wronged Castiel, not in the slightest, and certainly not in the destructive way Dean had.

After finishing his broth and some of his Jell-O, Castiel is exhausted.

"That was great!" Sam says with such genuineness that even Dean is convinced it was.

Castiel just closes his eyes and pulls the blanket over himself. That's another thing, too: he doesn't like anyone tucking him in. He usually isn't comfortable with gentle touches, or being watched in his sleep. He doesn't like when he's asleep and suddenly becomes conscious of voices commenting on him, how fragile he looks and how much they want to take care of him.

He tries to hide this because everyone is absolutely doting on him at this point. Cas doesn't want his friends-his family-to feel guilty. Bobby, with his fatherly shoulder clasps. Jo, who always coos sadly over Castiel's sleeping form. The worst was when Castiel was supposedly asleep and Ellen, in a fit of mothering, pet his hair and kissed his forehead. Castiel shuddered and curled up defensively. Whether he was conscious or not, it upset Sam and Dean that Cas was having those reactions.

Sam and Dean catch on quickly, though. Sam continues to ask permission before he touches Cas, and Dean refrains from touching at all. But when Castiel feels Dean's eyes on him when he's asleep, it doesn't bother him.

"Cas?"

"Hm?"

"The doctors say you're progressing rapidly," Dean says. Actually, they said he's started to progress rapidly. During his first two weeks in the hospital, he'd been unconscious most of the time, for days at a time. It was expected, but still agonizing. "Might release you soon."

"Oh."

Castiel's staring sleepily at the television, not really watching it. It's just something to pay attention to.

"I was wondering, um, you could stay with me if you want."

Castiel shifts his head slightly towards Dean.

"I'd like that," he says.

~~~~

Since Castiel is conscious more often, his brothers decide to fly in. Unfortunately, they all wind up visiting not only the same week, but their first visit to Cas happens at the same time.

Michael is there first thing in the morning. It's before visiting hours even start, but he sneaks in. When he and Lucas first found out what happened, they had been seconds away from calling a hit on the man who kidnapped Cas. Surprisingly, it was Gabriel that talked them out of it. Since the person was in custody, it would be more difficult, and it would be obvious that it was foul play. When he reads over Cas's chart, and see his broken brother, his fingers go for his phone. The monster that did this to Cas needs to die.

Castiel stirs and Michael forgets his phone.

"Castiel."

Cas's face scrunches as he wakes. "Michael?"

Someone clears his throat in the doorway. It's Lucas.

"Am I interuppting?"

"No, Lucas. I just woke up," Castiel is still hazy from sleep, but happy.

"How are you feeling?" Lucas asks, voice soft.

Castiel's lips twitch. "Been better. Been worse, too, if you can believe it." Although the "worse" had been only two weeks ago, and the "better" had been over a year ago.

"Family reunion!" A shout from the door way breaks up the tall, dark brooders. It's Gabriel, the black sheep of the family: jovial, joking, short, sanguine to his brothers' melancholic.

Lucas clears his throat. "I think three visitors might overwhelm Castiel."

"Not at all," Castiel smiles weakly.

"I think that one particular visitor might overwhelm me," Lucas corrects, with a pointed look at Gabriel.

"Come in," Castiel tells Gabriel.

"See? Told you he likes me best," Gabriel pulls out a box of chocolate from a huge shopping bag he'd brought with him. Cas sees that it's Gabriel's favorite brand, and knows the chocolates are too rich for him to eat yet.

"Thank you," Castiel says, taking the box, removing the lid, and handing it back to Gabriel.

"You shouldn't have," Gabriel puts a caramel into his mouth. "Actually, I'm gonna make it an even trade."

He pulls out a huge blanket. It's a family heirloom, a quilt their grandmother made. As their family grew apart, it fell to neglect. Now, it looks almost new.

"Kali cleaned it and patched it up," Gabriel says, throwing it over Castiel. He does it carelessly, not like Frederick, so Castiel can deal with it. He knows he's going to fall asleep soon.

"Where are you staying?" Castiel asks his brothers.

"Turns out we all got penned up in the same hotel. Downsides of living in a small town, Cassie," Gabriel complains.

"It's mid-sized," Castiel can feel his eyelids getting heavy.

"I suppose anything's small compared to New York and Los Angeles," Lucas says contemptuously. For some reason, he hated the coasts and allied himself strongly with Chicago. "Anyway, Michael and I happened to be staying at the same place, and you weaseled into our records and found out where we were staying."

"A technicality," Gabriel brushes it aside with his hand. Cas's eyes drift shut to the sound of Lucas and Gabriel arguing. Cas wonders if they'll continue bickering after he fall asleep, or if they will end their performance when their audience is asleep.

He feels the bed dip down as Michael sits next to him, putting two fingers on Castiel's forehead and humming an old song from their childhood. It's a private family tradition, one that had not been known or corrupted by Frederick. In the background, Gabriel annoys Lucas by doing his impression of a Chicago gangster. Castiel lets the sound and touch lull him to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Keep 'em coming. :D

As the three brothers leave the hospital , they run right into Dean and Sam in the hallway. Ahead of Gabriel, Michael and Lucas stare down the Winchesters.

"Where are you going," Lucas sneers. It's not so much a question as a warning.

"I'm visiting Cas," Dean says.

"You might not know this because you haven't spoken to him in a year, but he's undergone a rather traumatic experience." It's a cheap shot, and not a very good one, but Lucas doesn't care.

"Actually, I do know. I've been visiting him every day for the past two weeks."

"Making up for lost time?"

"When was the last time _you_ vis-"

"Guys, hey, how about we go grab some lunch?" Gabriel suggests.

"I wouldn't have an appetite," Lucas doesn't take his eyes away from Dean.

"C'mon! I hear Subway has good product placement. I'm sure we all have a lot of catching up to do." He directs the last part at his brothers: Sam and Dean can tell them about Cas.

"Yes," Michael realizes it would be a good idea, "let's have lunch."

Subway is out of the question for Michael and Lucifer's rich taste, although there's not a lot of gourmet restaurants in Castiel's town. They go to the next best thing, a not completely classless diner near the hospital.

"How is my brother's progress?" Lucas asks after agonizing minutes spent picking at their food in silence.

"He's, uh, doing good. For what happened-I mean..." Sam didn't mean to say it, and he looks at Dean apologetically. Dean stares resolutely at the table.

"And what did happen?" Michael's voice is quiet, and he can't meet anyone's eyes.

"He was...he was chained to a wall. In a dark cellar. He was given just enough water to stay alive. No food. We don't know how long he was there for. Probably not the whole fi-five months, 'cuz there was another room... But too long. And the guy beat him. There's lashes on his back from being whipped. And um..." Dean's voice gave away and he desperately grabbed a glass of water.

"You were the one who found him." Michael realizes. Dean doesn't say anything, just desperately wishes his water turned into a stiff drink. "Are you still on the case?"

Dean shakes his head.

"And whose decision was that?" Michael's voice is low and dangerous: _did you chicken out of helping my brother?_

"The sergeant's."

Sam rushes in to elaborate. "Bobby thought it would look bad at the trial if someone so close to Dean were on the case. I mean, a lot of the force is close with him, but not like Dean-" He cut himself off.

"And what are his plans for release?" Lucas asks.

"Um, he'd agreed to stay with me," Dean says.

There's a short silence, and then Gabriel and Lucas start clammering.

"Please tell me that 'Me' is the name of someone who isn't you."

"He'd agreed? My brother is not in a condition to agree to anything. To stay with you?"

"He's doing really well," Sam adds hopefully.

"Watching marathons of Dr. Sexy M.D. does not make you a doctor!" Gabriel barks.

"If my brother agreed to stay with you, then he obviously-what did you do?"

"Stop!" Michael roars before Dean can defend himself. "Lucas. Gabriel. As...confusing as Castiel's decision is, he hasn't had freedom in a long time, and we can't take that away from him. He made a choice. And if or when there's fall-out, we will pick up the pieces and clean up the wreckage." He glares at Dean threateningly. "But I think it's important for him to know that he still has support and free will."

Lucas and Gabriel can't argue with Michael. They never did, they never would. The matter settles. Michael asks for the check.

Days pass, and Castiel's brothers decide to leave. Castiel insists they get back to their families, despite their reluctance to leave Castiel. Gabriel's the one who wants to cling most "but Luke and Mike insist that I leave. Something about someone being a nuisance? I don't know." So Lucas goes off to Chicago, Gabriel to L.A., and Michael to New York, with promises to return, and to be back if ever Castiel needs anything.

"Anything, do you hear me?" Lucas says, eyes drilling into Castiel.

Not even a week after the brothers leave, Castiel is released from the hospital. Bobby, Sam and Dean are there to transport their friend and all his medical equipment to Dean's house.

They can sense Castiel's hesitance. As Dean helps him into the wheelchair, he can see that Castiel wants to turn back and hide in his hospital bed. But they all encourage him, gently, confidently.

"You're doing great, Cas. They wouldn't let you go if they weren't sure."

Dean's proud as he wheels his friend out of the hospital. He's happy, happier than Cas is, and it should make him feel selfish. But hell, his friend's a victim-no, a survivor, Dean corrects himself with the terminology Sam uses-of unspeakable torture, and he's heading home, and someone has to be proud for him even if Cas isn't of himself.

Cas is holding up fine until they wheel him outside, into the sunlight. Dean almost doesn't notice the small, strangled sounds coming from his friend. When he does, he stops, kneeling urgently by his friend. Sam and Bobby are desperate to check, too, but then step aside: Castiel needs space.

"What's wrong? Cas?" Dean asks.

There's tears streaming down his friend's face, and he's gasping air like he's been suffocating.

"It's-I haven't-It's nothing-I-haven't been o-outside in..." Castiel trails off, unable to think about how long it's been since he's been outside, and the hospital parking lot is the most beautiful thing in the world.

He finally calms down, but the episode deflates Dean a little bit. Castiel is out of the hospital, but not out of the woods. He has a long way to go, and Dean will be there every step.

Bobby takes his own car while Dean and Sam ride front seat of the Impala. Castiel is in the back, bundled up in blankets, dead to the world.

They finally arrive at Dean's house. Castiel went into a panic at the possibility of being bridal-carried. He said, if he had to, he could be supported, not carried, but he was so weak that it was easier to just carry him somehow. He passed out after a few steps.

That's why Sam's six-and-a-half foot frame is bent over in Dean's doorway, with a conked out, fully grown man piggybacking on him. It can't be comfortable, but Sam looks happier than anything. It's moments like this where Dean loves his brother more than possible.

"Where's his bed?" Sam asks.

Bobby takes over setting up the equipment so that Dean can help Sam, taking Castiel's chest while Sam takes his legs. Since Castiel is dead to the world, they have to hope they position him comfortably.

"He must be exhausted," Sam murmurs. Dean's heart clenches. Cas, who used to run marathons, must be exhausted from sleeping and being carried. Dean goes into the kitchen and grabs three beers.

"Thank you, guys. Really," Dean throws Bobby and Sam a bottle.

"Didn't do it for you," Bobby says, only half-kidding. He takes a sip from his beer and skims over the instructions from the hospital. "You read all this over?"

"Yep," Dean announces proudly. He could even be tested on it.

"Gonna head out now, give you some space. You need anything, you call, hear me?" Bobby says.

Sam hesitates to leave. He trusts his brother with Cas, but it couldn't hurt to have an extra hand around. Cas looks tiny and vulnerable, and his brother is always an emotional mess, but never moreso than now.

"Yeah. Same." Sam says. They all give quick parting hugs.

Dean's finally alone with Cas. There are no doctors or brothers or other friends around. Even though Cas isn't up to talking-isn't even awake-the fact that he's there, right in Dean's house, wheezing breaths and all, comforts Dean.

He takes a seat next to the bed, turns on the TV, and out of the corner of his eye, watches the rise and fall of his friend's chest.


	12. News

With Castiel living with Dean for the indefinite future, one thing becomes clear to Dean: he absolutely can not be in love with his best friend.

The last thing he needs is to complicate Castiel's life. They've just become friends again, and Castiel is fragile. Castiel needs stability. He isn't in love with Castiel. He can't be.

It's just his poorly suppressed mother hen instinct. He's supposed to be watching to make sure Castiel is fine. If he's over-eager to help him eat, wrapping his hand around Castiel's too-cold, too-bony ones, it's because his friend has been through a lot and Dean needs to be there for him.

He tries to give Castiel is space because that's the most important thing. Castiel has a thing against people watching him or touching him or being in the same room with him while he sleeps. Dean listens for nightmares, but he doesn't know what to do one night when Castiel wakes up screaming, loud and panicked. He makes a mad dash for Castiel's room. His first instinct is to grab Castiel and whisper soothing things to him, but that doesn't work.

"Let me out! Let go, please. I won't tell, let me go. I want to go home."

"You're at my house, Cas. You're not there anymore. It's me."

Dean can't listen to Castiel's pleas. The soothing doesn't work, and he's not going to slap Castiel. So he pinches his arm.

Dean's surprised it makes Castiel come back to reality.

"Dean?" Castiel's dazed eyes find Dean.

"Yeah."

Castiel collapses against Dean and starts shaking uncontrollably. He's not crying, only trembling, and that somehow makes it worse. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel.

"'ts OK," Dean murmurs. There are times when Castiel doesn't mind physical touching, and this is one of them. "It's gonna be hard for a long time, Cas, but I'm going to be here."

He gently eases Cas back down, still clinging to each other, and Castiel falls back asleep.

Dean watches him for the night. Cas doesn't have another night terror.

The next morning, Sam lets himself in. He doesn't have class and whenever he can, he visits his family. He walks down the hallway, the door to Castiel's room ajar. His brother his half-spooning, half-restraining Castiel, but Castiel looks peaceful, comfortable.

When Dean wakes up later, he finds Sam in the kitchen.

"G'morning," he mumbles, rubbing his head and pouring himself coffee.

"Sleep well?"

Dean shrugs noncommital.

"I saw you and Cas. I know you didn't do anything, but Dean, you have to be careful."

Now fully awake, Dean pounds his fist on the counter. "Dammit, Sammy, I did what I had to to get him to sleep."

"I know. But please be careful, OK? Not just for him."

After that, Dean is careful. He doesn't give a shit about not getting his heart broken, but Cas needs a safe environment to recover. Dean needs to uncomplicate things for Castiel as much as possible. Maybe one day down the road, they'll have a nice life together. Maybe in another world, the year they spent not talking (Castiel bound up in a psycho's dungeon for almost half of it) could have been spent in a relationship. Or maybe Dean isn't in love with Cas and it's just some Florence Nightengale shit fucking things up.

One night, Bobby comes over for dinner. He's been a firm believer in sucking things up and carrying on with life after bad experiences, but Castiel can tell this whole thing has jostled him. He smiles too frequently for things to be normal, his voice is too quiet when he talks to Castiel, his eyes are too soft. These changes are subconscious, Castiel supposes. Bobby can't help it, so Cas doesn't let it bother him.

"You wanna hear about the case?" Bobby asks over a burger. "It's good news."

As long as Frederick can't do what he did to anyone else, Castiel doesn't care how harsh his punishment is. The damage is already done to him. But Bobby and Dean want retribution and assume Castiel does, too.

Castiel nods. He loves Bobby. He'll let the old man think his news will make Castiel feel better.

"We got Chuck Shurley going after that bastard-" (Dean and Bobby have a million epithets for Frederick) "-for everything he could be conceivably charged for. No pleas, no mercy. That monster's gonna fry."

Dean glows. "That's great!"

"Nothing he did was a capital offense here," Castiel points out. It wasn't a complaint, just an observation, but Dean and Bobby look consolingly at Castiel. Bobby puts his hand on Castiel's. Castiel winces, but Bobby doesn't notice.

"Hey, son," he says in his soft voice, "Gonna make sure he'll get the worst we can give him. And he'll sure as hell never hurt you again."

Staring at Bobby's hand, Castiel thinks that Frederick will be hurting him every day for the rest of his life. But he looks up at Bobby and smiles with what passes for genuine gratitude.


	13. Chapter 13

TRIGGER WARNING: References to the past non-con

The weeks pass in a haze of visitors for Cas, and pining, for Dean. Cas realizes he's been sleeping a lot so he starts finding things to do. He takes to cooking and gardening. As for going out, he doesn't do it much. He likes Dean's yard, but he's antsy in large public places.

He gets a letter from Balthazar-very heartfelt, very sweet, and it reminds Castiel of how emotional Balthazar actually is. Balthazar wants to visit, but he's not allowed to leave the country. Castiel smiles softly. Next to Balthazar's deep, heartfelt apologies, it's starkly Balthazar.

Gabriel and Lucifer visit three months after their first. Again, Lucifer accuses Gabriel of subterfuge, but Gabriel made his plans right after he returned home the first time. They balance fighting just enough to give Castiel feelings of warm familiarity, but not enough to alarm him. Castiel marvels at how they've got it down to a science.

Dean's opened his house completely to Castiel's visitors. Although most of them are Dean's own friends, Castiel appreciates it.

Cas is in the kitchen cutting up vegetables with Lucifer while Dean and Gabriel sit on the couch in the living room. Dean loves watching Castiel cook. He can't cut as well as he used to. The slices aren't as thin and his motions aren't as fluid, but Dean is impressed that he's using a knife, that he's preparing food, that he's Cas. He watches Castiel's hands, healing nicely, a little clumsy and trembling but he's trying.

"You love my brother," Gabriel's pipsqueak voice says next to him.

"He's my best friend," Dean says. He's reminded of the conversation with Sam, months ago. So far Sam and Gabriel have been the only one to bring it up.

"Fuck you, man. You know what I mean. You fuck this up, my brothers and I are going to kill you. We're going to beyond kill you."

Dean swallows. If he denies anything, Gabriel will kill him right now.

"I'm not gonna tell Michael and Lucifer. Out of a favor to my little bro. But that just means, if anything happens, I will be that much more pissed. Do you understand?"

"Dinner," Lucifer calls from the kitchen. Neither he nor Castiel heard anything.

"Yep," Dean says, pasting on a smile. "Coming"

The next time Bobby visits, he seems rather grim. He doesn't say much about anything so Castiel, hoping to turn the topic to something he likes talking about, asks about the trial.

"Um, about that," Bobby begins, uncertain, "it's gonna be a bit more difficult than I thought. See, this bitch-Bela Talbot-she's picking up the scumbag's case. Now," he interjects as if Castiel had reacted, which he hadn't, "it just means things are gonna take a bit longer, but it's not gonna change a thing. She's just a dick who likes making stuff hard for people, kay?"

Castiel nods.

"We'll get him," Dean promises. Castiel forces a smile to reassure Dean and Bobby that he cares about the trial, that he's confident they'll win.

"That's my boy," Bobby beams, wrapping his arm around Cas.

Sam visits Cas on one of Dean's days off, so Dean decides to stop by the precinct. Cas and Sam always enjoy time with each other. Smiling fondly at the thought of his brother and his friend geeking out over some documentary, Dean knocks on Bobby's door. It takes a moment for him to answer, and when he does, he blocks the doorway.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Hey. What're you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd stop by. What's going on?" Dean tries to look in over Bobby's shoulder, but Bobby reminds strangely and resolutely in place.

"Nothing. Could you come by another time?

In the room, the remote control to Bobby's TV teeters off the edge of his desk and falls. A button must have been pressed by the impact, because the TV comes to life.

'Such a good angel, so obedient...'

Bobby pales, his eyes widen in shock, and Dean pushes his way into the room. He sees on the TV what Bobby tried to hide. Castiel, gagged as that monster thrusts behind him, supporting Castiel's slack, wilting body.

"What the fuck are you watching?"

"Dean, please-"

Dean can hardly keep standing. Bobby always tried to drink Cas under the table and lost. He'd push Cas into drinking contests-loser pays-and always, always lose despite trying his hardest, always winded up vomiting into a toilet the entire night, always had to pay. And Cas would always set books aside for Bobby, old mythology books, bad mysteries...

"Why the fuck are you watching this? That's Cas getting raped! What the fuck are you doing? Huh? Do you like watching it? Are you getting off to this?"

Dean continues rambling until Bobby punches him. The sharp crack of Bobby's fists knocks Dean sideways and over.

Yeah. Deserved that, Dean rubs his jaw.

"I'm watching that because I need to know the evidence, boy. If I let anything slip my mind..." and suddenly, Bobby's teary, and Dean feels worse than shit. "You think I like having to do this when it's photos of young women or hitchhikers or students? You think I like doing this when it's Cas? I'm doing this because I'm hoping-and I know I'm wrong-I'm hoping that if I get this monster locked up for life, I can finally sleep."

"I'm sorry."

An apology has never been more heartfelt or less effective.

"Yeah, well. Why don't you go home, OK?" Bobby swipes his eyes with his sleeves, and Dean knows his suggestion is a command.

Bobby handles all the cop stuff, the whole law and order thing, until he asks if Dean and Cas can meet with Chuck Shurley. They meet him, and he's the least intimidating man ever. When he spills coffee down his front-the lid just falls off, splashing coffee all over-Dean doesn't know how he can convince a jury of anything.

Sam hesitates to say what he knows about Bela Talbot.

"I've never met her. Heard some things but-they're campfire stories, you know? Rumors and stuff like that. Not important," He smiles weakly.

In Dean's mind, it confirms that they're screwed.

"She asked if we could plea bargain," Chuck says. "I laughed in her face."

Bobby, Dean, and Castiel are meeting with their lawyer. Castiel doubts that he laughed in her face. Chuck always freezes up and turns pale around Bela. But Castiel smiles weakly.

"It'll be a slaughter-sorry," Chuck apologizes, thinking that word would upset Castiel. Everyone watches what they say around Castiel and still manages to say the wrong thing. Castiel hates it, but he can't fault them for it. People had always been alien to him, he'd always tried to figure out the right way to respond to others, and he'd always failed. Now others are trying to figure out the right way to respond to him and failing. It's balance.

"Can't imagine anyone giving him mercy if they see the tapes," Chuck says.

Castiel looks up, alarmed. Bobby and Dean look stunned, too.

"We weren't gonna..." Dean says.

Castiel's eyes bulge. The tapes. The ever-present camera. He'd forgotten about it. It was just always there.

"We're not using the tapes," Bobby asserts.

"You...you saw th..." he can't get the words out without stuttering.

"Just us. No one else'll see him," Dean says, raking his fingers through Castiel's hair. Castiel is dazed, returning to his traumatized expression that he had days after being rescued.

"N...no one e...else."

"No one else," Bobby affirms.


	14. Chapter 14

The trial begins a few weeks later. Chuck transforms into hyper efficient lawyer Charles Shurley, but Bela Talbot is merciless. She paints Castiel as a ditzy, naive weirdo who was asking for it, and Frederick as a well-intentioned by imbalanced lonely man who didn't do anything Castiel wasn't asking for (although the last part was not said in so many words).

Chuck starts with the officers. His questions are quick, factual, get-the-story questions. Bela's cross-examinations are brutal and long. She brings up petty crimes, small character flaws, anything she can to devalue the witnesses. She asks about Ash, the precinct's tech guy, and his possession of marijuana charge. Chuck objects to almost everything she says and all of them are sustained, but she plants the idea of incompetent, deviant officers.

It takes days to get through the opening witnesses. The fourth day of the trial, Bobby, Sam, Dean, and Cas pick up take-out and go back to Dean's. Almost immediately after walking through the door, Castiel is sprawled on the couch, passed out.

"The trial's exhausting him," Dean murmurs. Sam's getting a blanket from the linen closet.

"Do you think we should wake him up and get some food in him?" Sam asks when he returns, draping it over Castiel. It doesn't seem to make him any more comfortable.

"Don't think he'd appreciate it," Bobby puts in. "Just let him sleep and forget about the trial for a few hours."

"Mr. Singer, you mentioned you found tapes and photos of the plaintiff, and that he was engaging in sexual acts in some of them."

"I would say 'being forced into' is more accurate," Bobby huffs.

"In the tapes, did the plaintiff ever say 'no' or 'stop'?'"

"He was bound and gagged."

"In any of the tapes, did he ever fight back? Resist in any way?"

"He was bound and gagged."

"Mr. Singer, are you familiar with BDSM culture? Some people want to-will actually go so far as to-be bound and gagged in manners that simulate rape."

The look Bobby gives is one that Dean has never seen any other person give. It is horror, shock, revulsion, and incredulity. Bobby doesn't know whether he wants to laugh at her, punch her, ignore her, or yell at her for suggesting that what happened to Castiel was anything other than non-consensual, anything other than rape.

"Ob-fucking-jection," Chuck shouts, then looks around bashfully.

"No further questions," Bela says.

Castiel tucks his knees up to his chest and picks at his rice. Sitting around the couch, Dean, Sam, and Bobby are ranting more angrily than he'd ever seen them.

"No one can possibly buy that shit. She's making an ass of herself," Sam huffs.

"How dare she?" Dean stabs his spare rib like it's Bela's face.

"No one's actually going to believe that, right?" Bobby asks Chuck.

"I mean-no," Chuck says, but he wants to say something else. "It's-she's spinning it, because the jury's not allowed to see the tape. She could spin it however she wants. I doubt anyone would fall for it, but-we're not gonna show them the tape, it's just-it's po-"

"Show it to them," Cas says, suddenly cutting Chuck off.

"Cas..." they all say at once.

"Just do it," he hasn't uncurled himself, and he still wants to wish the trial away. He tells himself he's doing this to make sure Frederick is locked up forever so he can't attack anyone else, but really, he doesn't want to disappoint his friends. They have a lot invested in retribution. And if he's going to beat Bela, he wants to beat her all the way. "Remove any doubt what he did to me."

"Are you sure?" Chuck asks.

"D-do I have to be in the room when they...?"

"'course not," Bobby says, looking at the man concerned.

Castiel nods. His throat is constricting, so he can't talk. He just makes little whimpering sounds and rocks back and forth. He hears Chuck's concerned voice ("You don't have to do this, Cas...") but he just keeps nodding his permission. He wants them to show the tapes.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I take some liberties with the legal system and courtroom procedure. I believe you all have noticed already. XD

They admit the tapes into evidence. Sam takes Castiel out when the tape starts. They don't want the jury to know how close Dean and Cas are. Bela would twist it, and she's uses anything that might make the police look incompetent or biased.

As soon as the tapes start, Sam tucks Castiel under his arm and leads him out of the room. They hear Frederick's voice as Sam opens the door, and Sam holds Cas tighter.

When they're outside on the bench, Cas buries his face against Sam's shoulder. He wonders how long it will take to show the tapes. If there are going to show all of them. He knows he'd forgotten a lot of what happened, had been unconscious for a lot of the time, or repressing the events.

He shuts his eyes and tries to nap. Before the trial, he'd been sleeping for almost-normal hours. Now, he sleeps whenever he has the chance.

He can't fall asleep. He pretends to, with Sam rubbing his arms comfortingly, but all he can think about is how long the tapes have been running for. It seems like forever.

Then, he notices Sam's body tense, and he looks up. Dean is walking towards them. They have to return to the courtroom.

"Dismissed for the day," Dean says. He looks sick, and his voice is tight and quiet.

Then Castiel realizes: he hadn't seen the tapes before. He knew that the tapes existed, but hadn't watched them. He'd had to stay in the room so that he didn't seem too involved with the case.

Suddenly, Castiel is terrified. He never fought back in the tapes, or didn't fight back enough. Dean knows how weak he is. He's probably angry for wasting so much time on someone helpless. Bela was right: Castiel was asking for it.

"C'mon," Sam smiles at Cas, ruffling his hair. Castiel lets Sam start to lead him out.

"Cas, um," Dean starts. Sam and Cas look confused, but Cas walks back to Dean, looking at him expectantly, "C-can I hug you?"

Dean and Bobby have been asking for permission recently. He wonders if Sam had a talk with them, or if they'd just picked up on Sam's habit. Whatever it is, Castiel nods and finds himself pressed against Dean.

"I'm so proud of you," Dean breathes before pulling away. "C'mon. Let's get out before the crowd."

"State your name for the record."

"Detective Dean Winchester."

Castiel stares at the hands in his lap. The prosecutor asks about Dean's credentials, the investigation, the day Castiel was found. Castiel tunes it out, although he catches words like "bruises" and "lacerations" and "sexual assaulted." Dean's voice hitches sometimes. Castiel doesn't have to look up to know that Dean is fighting to keep his eyes mist-free. He has never been as good as hiding his emotions as he would have liked.

Bela Talbot begins her questioning. Every part of Castiel has been hoping that she won't bring up his and Dean's personal relationship. It's beyond wishful thinking.

"Mr. Winchester, do you have a relationship with the client outside the investigation?"

"Yes."

"How would you describe the nature of that relationship?"

"We were-we're friends."

"How close would you say you were or are?"

"Um, I don't know. Pretty close."

"Pretty close...Do you usually let friends who are 'pretty close' stay with you for months?"

"When they need to. Like when they've been kidnapped by a psycho."

Castiel dips his head even more. He hears Sergeant Singer grumble and Chuck Shurley groan.

"Please answer the question, Mr. Winchester, with less snark."

"He's my best friend, OK?"

"And have you ever seen Castiel with any other companions?"

"He and my brother Sammy are pretty close. And um, his brothers, Michael and Luc-"

"Other than his family and yours, does Castiel have any friends?"

"Not that I know of."

"How has your relationship been for the past year?"

Castiel's head shoots up. Nervous and pale, he looks rights at Dean, hoping that Dean isn't looking right back. But Dean is. Their eyes meet and lock, a second too long. Dean isn't hiding his upset as well as he should be. He turns back to the attorney.

"It's been, um...strained."

"Strained? How so?"

"We haven't been talking."

"Why is that?"

Dean swallows. "There were rumors that a pretty big crime spree was gonna go down, but a lot of contradictions, misinformation, dead ends, stuff like that. Cas overheard something at the bookstore and, um, followed the guys. By himself. Thought the cops wouldn't have enough time or man power to chase a false lead. So uh, he trailed 'em, and shit went down between a bunch of criminals and ex-cons. Cas called us. We got there before the whole thing exploded, but..."

"Is Mr. Novak a trained law officer?"

"No."

"Is he licensed in any way to prevent crime?"

"No."

"But it sounds like everything turned out OK. Why were you upset with him?"

"I mean, he just...He should have told me, at least. He could've been hurt. He wasn't, but...he could've been."

"So it sounds like Mr. Novak has a history of recklessly endangering his life."

"Objection!" Chuck shouted.

"Sustained," the judge muttered.

"Mr. Winchester, you have a history of violent emotional outbursts. You have a rather close personal relationship with Mr. Novak. Isn't this whole thing rather upsetting to you?"

"What kind of a question is that? I get you have to help criminals walk so that you can put gas in your Lexus. And my friend got hurt, yeah, you better believe I'm upset about it. But what I'm more upset about is that this man-my friend or not-was kidnapped and raped, and you're trying to make it seem like he's at fault."

Sam has his face in his palm. Mr. Shurley is resisting the urge to slam his face on the desk and Bobby is gritting his teeth down to keep from shouting 'idjit.' But Castiel doesn't care. Red-faced and shaking, he's focused on the floor.

"Mr. Winchester," the judge warns.

"No further questions," Ms. Talbot smirks. Dean doesn't look at her. The jury shouldn't see how close he is to punching the defense.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean doesn't take his eyes off Castiel in the witness stand. He tunes out the prosecution's questioning, but looks at Cas, wishing he could comfort him and save him just by looking at him.

It hurts. Cas looks so scared, and hell, he should be. Talbot's a tough bitch. Cas is tough, too, and that's why seeing him look so vulnerable is even worse.

"Are you presently aware of how long Mr. Fowles was watching you?"

"Yes."

"Were you aware, at the time, that someone was watching you?"

"No."

"Mr. Novak, did you keep your door locked?"

"No."

"Never?"

"I..."

"More often that not, did you keep your door unlocked?"

"Yes."

"You are aware that this isn't a 1950's Utopia, yes?"

("Objection!" "Sustained.")

"How would you respond to the descriptions that you are 'absent-minded,' 'naive,' 'a loner?'"

"I would say that they are subjective judgments."

"Mr. Novak, in the past year, did you talk to many people? Go out often? Hang out with friends occassionally?"

"N...not very often, no."

"No further questions, your honor."

The car ride to Dean's house is silent. Dean's eyes constantly flicker to the passenger seat where Castiel is slouched. He wants to say something but he shouldn't.

Wordlessly, he pulls into his driveway. Dean unlocks his front door and walks in, Castiel sulking behind him.

"What do you want for dinner?" Dean asks, heading straight to the refrigerator. There's a tank of left over chili, but they've been eating that for ages. Minute Rice. He should call Sam, ask what would be good for Cas. Probably fish and vegetables or something. Not fried.

"Nothing," Castiel huffs.

"Spaghetti? Um...Popsicles? No, that's not good. C'mon, you gotta eat."

"Because I can't take care of myself."

"That's not what I meant. We'll order something. I'll even get that disgusting Hawaiian pizza you like so much. Only half, though. Meat Lover's on the other half."

"I think I should move back home."

"Like hell you are," Dean says offhandedly, sorting through his pile of menus for the pizza place. "And we need vegetables, too, both of-"

"You don't need to feed me. You don't need to house me. You don't need to bring me clothes, or make sure I'm taking my medicine, or flank me when we go outside, Dean! Why do you insist on treating me like I can't take care of myself?"

"Because you can't!" Dean snaps, and as soon as the words are out, he regrets them. The worst possible thing to say, and he's said it. "Cas. Please. Please!"

But it's too late. Castiel's already leaving, marching out the door with his stubborn determination. He slams it on his way out.

Dean just stares at the closed door, not knowing what to do. Cas hasn't had freedom in ages, and they haven't had each other for longer than that. And he's just fucked up big time again.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam opens the front door. Castiel is standing there.

"I'll call you back," Sam says into the phone before clicking it off. "Hey, Cas. Something wrong?"

"Dean and I-ah, we had a fight," Castiel says as Sam ushers him in and onto the couch. Everything that happened since the car ride comes out, disjointed and rambling, but coherent. It takes Castiel a moment to realize that Sam is saying his name. Dazed, he looks at Sam.

"You know what Talbot said at the trial isn't true, right? No one in their right mind would think that, and she's just using it as one of the most desperate ploys in the book." Sam says. Castiel looks confused. He hadn't mentioned the trial, hadn't mentioned Talbot. "You didn't ask for what happened, you didn't deserve it, and it wasn't your fault."

"I know, Sam. Dean...coddles me. Like I'm an invalid. I can't do anything right, not the most basic...I can't...remember to feed myself or pay attention when I cross the street. Can't...can't remember to...to lock doors..."

Cas's eyes go out of focus.

"Cas? Cas, is it alright if I hug you?"

Trancelike, Castiel nods. He feels Sam's arms around him, rocking him back and forth. His face is squashed in Sam's chest, and he's warm and dark.

"You're smart, Cas, and braver than anyone. Braver than Bobby, and that's coming from the man himself. You're my best friend, and Dean's, and we both love you a lot. Nothing that happened was your fault. We'll get through this." Castiel doesn't say anything, but Sam continues to rock him. "Do you want to crash here for the night?" Castiel nods stiffly in Sam's arms. "You want the bed?"

"No. I'll take the couch. You're too tall for anything other than a bed."

Sam smiles and pushes Castiel away gently. "Alright. Linens are in the hall closet. I'll get you some nightclothes from my room. Now, can I call Dean before he uproots the city?"

Sam waits until Castiel has fallen asleep before calling Dean back.

"He showed up at my door right after you called."

On the other hand, Dean lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank god. How is he?"

"He's sleeping now. I think he's better than when he left."

"I didn't mean to upset him. That's the last thing I want," Dean says, softly. He sounds defeated. Sam can't have that.

"He's going to be moody for a long time. He's beat, he's exhausted. You're gonna want to take care of him, to give him things he doesn't need or want, and things you can't give him. Sometimes he's going to want all that comfort, other times he's going to want everyone to back off."

"Then what the fuck do I do?"

If Sam didn't know the situation or his brother, he'd think Dean was angry enough to rip his head off. "I don't know. You have to read the signs. Sometimes you're gonna mess up."

"I suck at reading people."

"He's not people. He's Cas."

"Should I stop by tomorrow?"

"I'd wait. I'll call you."

Dean exhales. "What if he's really mad at me?"

"He's not."

Sam's a really smart kid, Dean thinks. He'll trusts his brother.

When Castiel wakes up and stumbles into the kitchen, Sam is at the table eating cereal and reading the paper.

"Hey, Cas. Sleep alright?"

Castiel nods stiffly.

"There's cereal if you want."

Sam gets up and washes his bowl in the sink.

"Did Dean call?"

"Yeah. When you're ready, you can call him. If you want."

"He meant well. I reacted...poorly."

"You're allowed to react and feel however you want. There's no right or wrong."

Castiel nods. "I'll have some breakfast first, then call him."

"I'm glad. Between you and me, he was worried out of his mind." Sam whispers conspiratorially.

Dean picks Castiel up later, after Sam and Cas spend the day playing chess in companionable silence. For the next few days, Cas does everything he can to be mellow. The defense will begin their case soon.

Castiel manages to tune out most of the defense's witnesses. He leans against Sam's shoulder and lets Sam run his hand through his hair. It's almost peaceful.

But then the defense calls their final witness, Frederick, and Castiel tries to focus on Sam's hand, but he hears words like 'pathetic' and 'sorry' and 'angel,' and the hand doesn't feel like Sam's anymore. Instead of gentle touches, Castiel imagines the hand pulling his hair, forcing his head back, throwing him down.

"I thought he wanted me to do what I was doing. I figured he was one of those lonely submissive types..."

The hand is petting more deliberately now, accompanied by quiet hushing noises. It's Sam, it's not Sam. Cas knows it's Sam but he doesn't think it is. Could it be Frederick?

"Sweet angel, don't act like you don't want this. Like you don't want us."

Castiel can't do anything except pretend. He can pretend this isn't happening. He can block it out. He can make it go away...

He wakes up later, on a bed. He tries to remember what happened. Did the jury reach a verdict? He remembers Frederick giving testimony, but everything after that is hazy.

"Cas? Hey," Dean says, "how're you feeling?

"He awake?" Bobby asks.

"I think he needs some space, Bobby," this is Sam, and Castiel opens his eyes to see Bobby and Sam walking out of the room.

"Hey. You had a little episode back there. You OK?"

Things come back to Castiel, vaguely. "Yeah."

"If you need to talk about it..."

"No. What are they...the trial. What are they going to do?"

"They're going to do that testimony again, but you don't have to be there."

Castiel nods.

"Going back to bed?"

Castiel nods again. He sinks down into the bed and lets Dean pull the thick blanket over him. He doesn't think about anything before he drifts into unconsciousness.


	17. The Verdict

Castiel doesn't go back to the trial until Chuck and Bela have to give their closing arguments. He ignores both of them, even though he likes Chuck. He just wants to pretend the trial isn't happening.

"Get comfy," Chuck says, "Juries deliberate for ages. I'll go get coffee.""

As Chuck leaves, Dean and Cas settle on a bench. Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder, and Dean rests his on top of Cas's, and they're asleep instantly.

"Cute, aren't they," Bobby comments.

Sam chuckles. "Yeah, a Kodak moment. We should take a picture."

"No."

Sam realizes what he said, then looks embarrassed. They stand there in silence. Dean and Castiel are snoring lightly.

"Really need that coffee," Bobby says after a while, sitting on the bench and rubbing his face. On cue, Chuck bursts through the crowd and heads towards the emptier area with Bobby, Cas and the Winchesters.

"They've reached a verdict!" He exclaims.

"Already?"

"Yeah, come on!"

It's quick for a verdict, Sam thinks, perplexed. He wonders if it's some mistake. But he shakes Dean, who wakes with a start. Castiel opens his eyes slowly, blinking lazily.

"Verdict's in."

"How long was I out?" Dean asks, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Like, two seconds. Come on."

Frederick is guilty on all counts, sentenced to life without probation. Castiel lets himself be hugged, lets his hair be ruffled, his shoulders clasped. For this moment, he's elated. He knows it'll only be for this moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dean walks Castiel out of the courtroom with a protective arm around his shoulder. Everyone can know about their profound bound now.

"Seems to me cause for celebration," Bobby says. Sam and Chuck agree.

"Maybe some other time for us." Dean says, looking at Cas, "I'm kind of tired."

The approaching clicking of stiletto heels makes everyone stiffen.

"Nice trial, boys," Ruby says.

Chuck steps between her and Castiel. "Go to hell, you demon bitch."

"You could have gone out with the others. I know you are attracted to Chuck's intern," Castiel tells Dean, later that night at Dean's-their-apartment.

It's true: Lisa is awesome, hot and bendy. But she's not Cas.  
"I'm attracted," Dean corrects as he sits on the couch next to Castiel, "to spending a quiet night with my best friend."

Castiel lies down and nestles his head against Dean's thigh.

"I'm going to be asleep within minutes," he murmurs.

Dean smiles down at his already half-asleep friend and strokes his hair. Minutes was a generous estimate: Castiel's breathing even outs immediately.

Dean tries to remember the verdict. Frederick's in jail for life. If the jury could have given him the death penalty, they probably would have. It's what they've been fighting for, right?

Then he looks down to the figure in his lap. Cas's sleep is peaceful right now, but it usually isn't.

They're fighting for Cas, not Frederick. And that battle's going to be a lifetime. But Dean will always be there.


	18. Epilogue

fThe party is perfect. It's a barbecue in a large park, with Dean and Cas's family and most of their police friends, just like old times. Cas eats an impressive amount of burgers. Bobby regales people with stories about dumb criminals. Chuck is hilarious when he's drunk. Balthazar's arrived, clean and sober. Gabriel and Lucas have their own little background subplot, one that involves fake snot, fake poop, and Lucas constantly storming off for one reason or another.

Somehow, Dean knows when to appear at Castiel's side and when to leave him alone. It's a year of practice and a lifetime of friendship. But Castiel is doing so well, with all these people around, all the activity. Dean is so proud of him.

The cake is vanilla frosting with white cake. It's the total opposite of what Dean likes (if he has to have cake, he likes chocolate-on-chocolate, but would prefer pie), but it's Castiel's favorite.

"Thirty-five candles," Sam counts, "and one for good luck."

"Thirty-four," Castiel corrects in a whisper.

Dean gets it immedietely: Cas doesn't want his lost year to count. "Right. Thirty-four," and he plucks a candle from the cake.

The toasts begin. They're a lovefest like none Dean has ever seen before. He's certain he likes it more than Cas does. Dean can find it amusing that Gabriel chokes up and Balthazar's eyes mist when they give their toasts, but to Castiel, it must be uncomfortably out-of-character. Everyone getting sentimental, shining a light on Cas. Cas can handle all the attention, but he would prefer not to have to.

"Cas is the best little brother a guy could have-no offense, Sam. Although they both can look the part a little more. Am I right, Dean?" Gabriel toasts.

"Speak for yourself, shrimp!" Dean calls out over the laughter.

"Seriously, though, there's not a lot of brotherly unison going on for the Novaks, but we can all agree on how much we love our kid brother, and um, how proud we are of him."

Finally, the toasters make it around the table and finally get to Dean. He stands up and looks at Cas. What could he say? Or should? They're all family here. He knows all the speakers meant well. But he thinks he and Cas could use a little privacy and normality. There's no need to gush in an attempt to show how much he loves Castiel.

"I think it goes without saying," Dean begins, "that Cas is a pretty cool guy. So how's about we dig into the cake?"

He sits back down, trying to acknowledge Castiel's grateful smile without drawing attention to it.

Castiel cuts the first slice, and then the multitude of guests clammer to cut and hand out slices, chatting away.

Underneath the table, Dean holds out the thirty-fifth candle. Castiel takes the other end. Together, they break it and let it fall to the grass.


End file.
